The Thief Page 7

He went on drinking as though the orange juice was the only thing in his world.

  “Show me how you do it.”

  “No. I told you. You’d get in the way.”

  He finished his drink and looked at my coffee, fiddling with the paper wrapper the straw had come in.

  “I’ll just watch from a distance. It can’t hurt if I just watch, can it?”

  “Nothing doing.”

  “Why not? If I’m a long way off, I won’t be in the way.”

  He was a lot more talkative than before.

  “If you don’t like being at home, go to the library and read a book or something.”

  “Did you do it with my mom?”

  The dim lights of the shop reflected off the surface of the water in my glass. I was a bit taken aback, but I kept my expression neutral. I breathed in slowly.

  “Look, you know how it is. I’m not your guardian angel. I’m just like all those other guys.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t care.”

  He looked down, went on playing with the paper.

  “I’m used to it. I’ve even seen them at it.”

  “But I bet you don’t like it.”

  “It’s gross. But….”

  He rubbed his thighs, started to say something else and then changed his mind. The ice in his glass had melted into the little bit of orange juice that remained, and he sucked it up noisily with his straw. A Christmas song was flowing out of the speakers.

  “Better you than him.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Don’t you like her?”

  “What about your dad?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  I wondered why I was bothering to ask him questions. I picked up the tab and left. The kid came with me.

  WE CAME OUT the east exit of Shinjuku Station and walked under the neon signs, avoiding the main crush of the crowd. When I leaned against the wall of an office building and lit a cigarette, my eyes met those of a homeless man walking toward me. The boy looked scared and mover closer. He started to clutch at my sleeve but then thought better of it. I gazed at the herd of people streaming by while I smoked.

  “People don’t concentrate all the time. Every day they get distracted dozens of times.”

  “Yeah.”

  For some reason the kid had brought along the colored cardboard coaster from the coffee shop.

  “If someone calls their name, for example, or there’s a loud noise, most of their attention is drawn to that. Just like you were looking at that bum a second ago. There are limits to people’s awareness. More exactly, they’re sensitive when they’re breathing in and when they’re holding their breath, but when they breathe out they relax.”

  The boy glanced at my sleeve.

  “Pickpockets know this and we take advantage of it. The classic technique is to take the wallet at the moment you bump into them. But actually picking pockets isn’t a one-man job. You need partners. Three people is standard. One person to jostle the mark, one person to block other people’s view, one person to lift. And jostling doesn’t mean hitting them as hard as you can. Just brushing them with your shoulder is enough. In a crowd like this, if the person walking in front stops suddenly, the person behind will lose their balance, right? That’s all you need. The person who does the actual lift stops anyone seeing him from the left, and the blocker shields the right and from behind. The one who takes the wallet immediately passes it to his partner, who hides it. If you do it like that you’ll never get caught.”

  A host, a sleazy guy standing outside a ladies’ bar trying to entice customers, was pestering a woman chatting on her cell phone as she walked. His ugly face was impossibly tanned, horrible enough to take your breath away.

  “If you’ve got five people, two of them start arguing, and while everyone’s focused on that the other three can steal the spectators’ wallets. I’ve also heard of a street performer and a pickpocket who worked as a team. A long time ago, when I was teamed up with that guy I told you about, the one who took ten million yen, we used a whole range of tricks. He’d pretend to be drunk and put his arm round the mark. Then I’d step in to stop him and take their wallet. Or I’d trip someone up and run away. He’d steal their wallet while he was helping them up. Sometimes we paid some bum to shout that there was a pickpocket in the crowd. Every single person would instinctively put their hand on their wallet. We’d know exactly where each one was, so they were easy to steal. A kid like you couldn’t get a wallet from inside someone’s coat. You’d have to stick to the back pocket of their trousers. I don’t like tools, but you could use a small blade. If you cut along the stitching of the pocket, the wallet would just fall out under its own weight. But anyway, the basic thing is how you’re going to distract the target.”

  I started walking and the boy did too.

  “Stay there. Just this once.”

  I followed the ugly host with my eyes.

  “That guy’s wallet is in his right back pocket. I’m going to walk up behind him and tread on the heel of his shoe. While he’s off balance I’ll take his wallet, moving in time with him. Of course there’s a knack to treading on someone’s heel. You aim to hit them just as they’re about to take the next step. That way, nine times out of ten they’ll fall forward. Your own coat hides what you’re doing from people around you.”

  I unbuttoned my jacket and approached the host. He looked around, spotted a flamboyantly dressed woman and changed direction. I followed him, opening my coat slightly to block the view from the left and checking that there was no one on my right. Then at the same instant I stepped on his right heel and pinched his wallet between my fingers. As he toppled over I pulled it, my body moving in unison with his. Slipping it into my right sleeve, I muttered an apology and moved off as he turned around, pretending I was in a hurry. He started to say something, but then looked away and scampered after the woman. I walked round a corner, the wallet still in my sleeve, and the boy joined me.

  “Did you get it?”

  It was an entirely ordinary brown Louis Vuitton wallet.

  “Eight thousand yen. That’s pathetic. We’ll throw the wallet in the gutter somewhere.”

  “I couldn’t see it. But I kind of got what you meant about matching his movements.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded emphatically.

  “You’re small, so maybe you’d be best to crash into him at full speed, like a kid would do. As soon as you hit him, take his wallet. Then you say sorry and run off again, same as when you ran into him. If you’re on a train there’s no way out if you’re seen.”

  “I want to try.”

  “No way. Well, okay, try it on me.”

  We went into a nearby Marui department store and stood in front of the mirror in the toilets. I took off my coat and put my wallet in my back pocket. He bumped into me and lifted it between his index and middle fingers and his ring finger.

  “Try again.”

  He repeated the same actions, took the wallet in exactly the same way. His timing was almost perfect, taking it at the exact moment I lost my balance. I figured he was about as quick as I had been when I was his age, and unless he made a mistake he wouldn’t get caught.

  “That’s hopeless,” I said.

  THE STREETS WERE busier than before. Just as I was thinking about buying the kid some clothes, he mumbled that he was going home. I thought he was sulking, but he said quietly that if he was late he’d get hit.

  “By your mom?”

  “By that guy who’s always coming round.”

  He was looking at me impassively.

  “Sometimes, when he’s drunk or whatever. It’s like he’s looking for an excuse to get angry, so I’ll get in trouble.”

  I stopped a cab and handed him the 8,000 yen I took from the host. Before the door shut he asked in a small voice if he could come and see me again. When I replied that I figured he would even if I told him not to, he nodded. He even seemed to smile a little.

  Watching t
he taxi drive away, I thought the man living with his mother must know about her job. Maybe he was the one who put her up to it. In the show window of a department store was a child-sized mannequin, all dressed up. Just as I was idly contemplating buying the outfit, I spotted a rich man on the other side of the street. I didn’t have any cash on me, so I figured it was karma.

  An image of Saeko’s face flashed into my mind and I wondered what her child would be up to now. Her kid was probably about the same age as the boy.

  I moved around so that I was facing the rich man I’d just seen, brushed against him gently and grasped his wallet with my fingers. Maybe I’d better buy lots of clothes rather than one good set, so that the boy could have changes. My heart skipped a beat as my wrist was seized. For a second I couldn’t work out what had happened. I tried to break free but the fingers holding me were incredibly strong. My hand was locked completely rigid and I couldn’t move a muscle, as though I was paralyzed. The people around us passed by without a glance. I was aware of the neon lights, the rows of cars, the huge buildings towering overhead. And right in front of me, squeezing my wrist, was Kizaki. He was wearing sunglasses, expressionless, his hair extremely short. Strangely, the scar on his neck was gone. All the other pedestrians just veered around us. I stared at him, unable to look away.

  “Long time no see. I’ve been watching you.”

  I couldn’t get my breathing under control. I had no idea what he was doing there.

  “Niimi told me you guys only target rich people. I saw you from miles away, came closer and walked in front of you on purpose. It was brilliant. There’s no doubt about it, I’m the richest person here.”

  12 With the man still gripping my arm tightly we passed through Kabukicho and entered a building standing in the shadows. He was so strong that I knew it was pointless to fight back or struggle. In fact, as we climbed the stairs in the darkness, I felt as though trying to escape would put me in even greater danger. The landings were filthy with dirt and grit and the grey walls were badly discolored, almost black in places. The exit was already far below us. Behind a door with no sign or nameplate we came to another door, a single sheet of black steel.

  When he opened it we were met by a wave of noise and red light. Under the powerful glare was a writhing mass of men and women, their naked bodies squirming on tables and couches. An old man had his face buried between the legs of a woman sitting on a table, and I could hear another woman’s cries of delight in response to a young man’s thrusts. Several couples were humping on the sofas, their tongues in each other’s mouths. Still holding my arm, the man made his way through them. My eyes met those of a woman with a guy’s penis in her mouth. Behind her was another woman, mouth open, been fondled urgently by two handsome young men. A man dressed as a waiter stepped silently from behind the counter to lead us, paying no attention to the people around him. A woman groveling like a dog on the floor grabbed my leg, shouting something unintelligible. I brushed her arm away but she seemed unaware that she’d grabbed me in the first place, never mind that she’d been shaken off. I saw the sprawled body of a woman staring into space and a well-built man collapsed on the floor. We passed a woman being strangled, her head pulled back towards the ceiling, and a man being licked all over by a woman. One lone woman was having convulsions on the floor. Beyond her was another door. For some reason I was struck by the thought that Ishikawa might be here.

  The waiter opened the door, crossed a narrow corridor and ushered us into a small room. Two couches faced each other with a low silver table between them. Apart from an Impressionist style painting of some fuzzy plants, the walls were bare.

  “Something to drink?” the man asked, apparently indifferent to the scene we had just witnessed.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Well, water then. And the usual.”

  The waiter bowed deeply and left, closing the door behind him. The noise was immediately muted and in the quiet room I heard a high ringing in my ears, as though someone was calling me from far away.

  “This place is hell. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  He took a cigarette from a case and put it between his lips.

  “But it’s a safe hell, because only people who’ve passed an STD check can join. Once you become a member, though, there’s no getting out. Because it’s hell. There’s not one person who doesn’t come back.”

  There was a knock at the door and the waiter entered. On the table he placed a tall glass etched with spirals, a bottle filled with what looked like whiskey, a clear glass and a bottle of water. Then he left and the room was silent again. The man sipped his whiskey, smiling, without saying a word. I poured water little by little down my sore, parched throat. He watched me, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “This wasn’t by chance, was it?” I asked, my voice still hoarse despite the drink.

  The muscles at the back of my arms went slightly numb.

  “Of course it wasn’t by chance. I’ve known for a long time you were back in Tokyo.”

  “How?”

  “I heard it from Tachibana. But even if I hadn’t, I’d have found out anyway. Because it just so happened that I wanted to see you. I heard from a subordinate that you were in Shinjuku, and then I looked out the window and there you were. And when I went closer, voila! You came to me! Just like a true pickpocket.”

  “And Ishikawa?”

  “He’s gone. Without a trace.”

  I felt a dull ache in my heart.

  “To be completely accurate, only his teeth are left. We burned his corpse and ground his bones into white powder. His teeth are probably scattered somewhere in Tokyo Bay. Too much trouble to crush them. It’s not like there’s a body buried some place. He has literally disappeared.”

  “So am I going to disappear too?”

  “Didn’t you get my message? That I was going to let you live? You could be useful and it might be entertaining. Him, he knew too much. Probably he didn’t tell you anything, but he knew too much so he said he wanted out. I just got him to help with that robbery before I killed him.”

  My body went weak and for a second my eyes lost their focus. From behind his sunglasses the man seemed to be looking directly at me, unblinking.

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you do that robbery by yourselves? Why hire us?”

  The man wiped his lips. Absurdly, it occurred to me that even guys like this wipe their lips.

  “If by some chance in a million something went wrong with our plan and the cops didn’t believe a Chinese gang was behind it, then we needed some dead bodies. Burglars’ bodies. We planned to make you three into another team of imaginary robbers, separate from us, to make it look like you were working for a different outfit. If we killed people we’ve worked with before it would definitely lead back to me. Maybe not all the way to me, but close enough. If you were dead, though, all the cops could do was head in the direction we pointed them. You know why?”

  I said nothing.

  “Because you guys have no family. Because you’re all alone in the world and even if you’d died there wouldn’t have been a single person who cared. It would have taken them ages just to ID you. Faced with a bunch of corpses and no clues, the police would have swallowed the fake evidence we planted hook, line and sinker. So at the time I needed some loners, people with no attachments. Of course, since they had no attachments they could have run away from me. They had that freedom.”

  “That job.” My voice shook slightly. “It wasn’t really a robbery, was it? Maybe you needed the money and papers too, but it was really about murder.”

  “Yes. But that’s not the whole story.”

  The man continued to smile, sipping his drink.

  “I needed a death which the public and the media would think was just bad luck, a killing during a robbery. But a tiny group of people would recognize that politician’s death as my handiwork. That was the point. The message wasn’t just, ‘If I cross him I’ll be killed.’
It wouldn’t be a violent death that raised doubts, like being pushed in front of a train or shot dead. It would be assassination disguised as a run-of-the-mill crime. Everyone would take it for granted that they’d died during the course of an actual crime, as though they’d walked in on the robbers, with not a shred of doubt. That’s got to be scary. Some people would think I’m powerful enough to get the Chinese mafia to work for me, others would think that I’ve got the criminal knowledge and systems to make it look like the Chinese mafia. Either way, it makes them afraid of me.”

  He moistened his lips with whiskey and moved his tongue inside his mouth as though softly stroking the inside of his cheeks.

  “That politician, he was an errand boy for some powerful people, some major players in the underworld. He was in the way. And his death frightened the people who were reluctant to deal with us. Now they’ve agreed to do business. Of course they didn’t tell us why they’d come round. They made up plausible excuses, like their boss finally gave them permission, or what the hell, profit comes first. But there were obstacles getting in the way of many of those dealings, and with the documents we got our hands on I could eliminate some of them. I knew that meant that several people would die, and I also knew that their deaths would make it even easier for us to operate. If this happens, then that happens, and so on. It’s all a jigsaw puzzle. With the profit we made, the money we gave you was just small change. It’s not just about profit. It’s about power too. And this is just a sideline. It isn’t even that important to me.”

  “Why did you let me live?”

  “There was no reason to kill you. I told you, you might be useful. I don’t need two pickpockets. Maybe if you hadn’t turned up Niimi wouldn’t have died. It all depends on my mood. And now, I want you to do something for me.”

  He looked at my face. I braced my legs, ready to stand up quickly.

  “I won’t do it.”

  My throat was tight and it was hard to breathe. Seeing he was about to speak, I started to rise.

  “There’s a kid you’ve made friends with recently, isn’t there? Have you already done it with the mother?”